


One For All, All For One

by KaijuDork



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Body Image, Fluff, Gen, Nightmares, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Torture, Why do I do this to myself, i'll add more tags with each chapter, it's gonna get rough folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7505809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaijuDork/pseuds/KaijuDork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone in Team Voltron has their own struggles, and Shiro always makes it a priority to help them out when he can. It's not always easy on top of his own issues, though; He's plagued by nightmares and flashbacks, and a growing sense of disgust at who he's become. His brave face is slowly crumbling as it begins to take its toll, and the other paladins agree to do something about it. </p><p>Or: Shiro helps each paladin out in turn, and sometimes they help him, but eventually they all come together to return the favour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pidge

Shiro hated sleeping.

 

He hated sleeping because there was always something more to do; They had a galaxy to defend. A ten thousand year old empire to defeat. This would be no small task for even a sizeable military force, and yet it was up to the paladins and them alone. There were always more alliances to build, outposts to destroy, people to save.

 

He hated sleeping because he had four teenagers to protect; He may still have been one himself, but he hadn't felt like it for a long, long time. The others looked to him for guidance, for counsel, for support. He was their leader, their protector, a father figure for them in the vastness of Space that they had found themselves in.

 

But mostly, Shiro hated sleeping because of the memories that came with it.

 

If given the chance to see his dreams, someone else might have thought that they were memories exaggerated by the brain’s dormant freedom, not quite true to life. Surely no human could go through such horror, such pain, and escape as unscathed as he had? But Shiro was not unscathed.

 

Shiro was broken.

 

These thoughts occupied him on his way to the lounge. It was late - the castle lights had dimmed on their daily cycle, a way of regulating the sleep and living schedules of those on board. Altean days were several hours longer than Earth days, but the others had adjusted to the new cycle easily enough. They were all in bed by now, exhausted by another day of training. Shiro had stayed on the training deck for five extra hours, reluctant to stop lest his mind to begin to wander, much to the concern of Coran who had eventually ushered him away.

 

“Go on, shoo! Get something to eat, you must be starving. I got hungry just _looking_ at you. How about I whip you up something special?” The alien had suggested as he waved Shiro out of the room.

 

“No! Ah, no, thanks, Coran. I can get myself something.”

 

“Suit yourself. Goodnight, Shiro,” he had said, sweeping away down the corridor in an elegant night gown and what Shiro assumed were the Altean equivalent to bunny slippers.

 

Even Allura was asleep now. Shiro hadn’t expected to see anyone for at least another eight hours. But as he walked into the lounge he found a small, messy-haired teen in their pyjamas fiddling with a piece of Altean tech.

 

“Pidge?” he said, and Pidge jumped slightly.

 

“Shiro! Why aren't you asleep?” they asked. They obviously hadn’t expected to see anyone either. Shiro folded his arms across his chest and smiled.

 

“I could ask you the same thing, kiddo.”

 

“I'm only a few years younger than you,” Pidge pouted. They were the youngest of the team, but by far the most mature of the other paladins. Their stature may have led others to underestimate them; more fool to the poor sods who did, because they would find themselves out-brained and out-fought. What the small palladin lacked in brute force they more than compensated for in intelligence and cunning, two traits that Shiro found they shared. Those were, after all, what had kept him alive in Zarkon’s arena.

 

“True. Sorry,” he chuckled, sitting beside them as they moved parts and notebooks out of the way. Chicken-scratch handwriting in the books logged every part of the device that had been removed in order, so Pidge could correctly put it back together again. Additional notes in the margins denoted the purpose of each part. Pidge saw Shiro looking at the books, and the parts that they had carefully transferred in organised piles to the table.

 

“I like understanding how things work,” Pidge explained, setting the half gutted device on the floor. “It makes me feel better.”

 

“That's not why you're still awake. You can do this any time,” Shiro said gently, laying a hand - his only hand - on his friend's shoulder. “What's wrong, Pidge?” They were silent for a moment, chewing on their bottom lip.

 

“I can’t sleep. I'm… I'm worried about my mom. She’s all alone,” they said finally, and their composure crumbled quickly into stifled sobs. “What if she never sees me again! What if something happens to me and she's left all alone?”

 

“Oh, Pidge,” Shiro wrapped his arms around Pidge as they hugged him tightly, releasing weeks of worry and guilt and sadness. Shiro’s heart broke at their selflessness; They were more worried about their mother being left alone than something happening to themselves.

 

“She's already lost dad and Matt,” Pidge choked into his suit, their glasses digging into his chest. “I don't want her to lose me too.”

 

“I'll do everything I can to get you home to your mom. You, and your father, and Matt,” Shiro said, kissing the top of their head. He’d do anything for all of the paladins, but a part of him felt that Pidge’s hurt was his fault.

 

“Promise?” They sniffed, and Shiro sighed heavily. They looked up at him.

 

“I promise to do my best to look after you, and to get them both back. But I can't promise that I'll get you all home. I'm sorry, Pidge, I just can't.”

 

Pidge nodded, wiping away tears with their sleeve between shaking breaths. “I understand. Thank you for being honest,” they said, and again their maturity was shown to be far beyond their age.

 

“Any time, buddy. Hey, wanna go to the kitchen and get some of that weird hot drink?” he suggested, attempting to lighten the tone. Pidge brightened.

 

“The stuff that tastes like weird spicy fudge?” they asked, leaping up. Shiro grinned.

 

“The very same.”

 

“I don't even know where that stuff’s _kept!_ What are you still sitting down for!? Come on!”

 

Twenty minutes later, after some excitement and rooting around in cupboards, Shiro and Pidge were in the lounge once more, sipping their thick fudge-drinks as they slowly cooled. Pidge had somehow wriggled themselves under his arm so that it was draped around their shoulders in a casual hug, and Shiro didn't mind. He'd happily give all of the comfort that he could to the young paladin. He set his mug on the arm of the couch, and heard the mechanisms in his metal arm whir.

 

Most of the time, he couldn’t hear the inner workings of the mechanical limb. It was like wearing a clockwork watch - the only time you became aware of the soft _tick-tick-tick_ was in moments of utter silence. He held the arm up and slowly opened and closed his fist, disgusted by the sounds, disgusted by the sight of it. This limb wasn’t his; was it even a limb? A Galra _tool,_ fused to him in an attempt to make him better suited to their needs _,_ to make him a weapon. Shiro often found himself thinking that they succeeded. He knew what this weapon - no, what _he_ was capable of, weapon or not. The others, they didn’t. He held back now. They couldn't know, they couldn't see that he was a monster inside as well as out; the exterior was nothing when compared to the creature the Galra brought out in him.

 

“-it hurt?” Pidge asked something timidly, tearing Shiro from his musings as he caught the end of the question. He found his mouth in a tight line, and he was still flexing the arm as he watched it move, alien and yet a part of him. Pidge had finished their drink, and Shiro wondered how long he'd been sitting like this, transfixed by the part of himself that he hated second-most. He cleared his throat.

 

“It does, yeah. But… I got used to it,” he answered truthfully, hoping that that was indeed the question. Pidge shook their head.

 

“I said _did_ it hurt,” they clarified. “As in, did it hurt getting the thing put on? Did they knock you out first? Had you already lost your arm in a fight?”

 

“I, uh, can't remember,” he replied, holding off a cringe, and Pidge frowned at him.

 

“You're a terrible liar,” they responded, taking hold of the arm and pulling it closer to them to examine it. Shiro grimaced at the touch, hating every second that that _thing_ was in contact with another living being, but Pidge didn’t notice. They were tracing their fingers along the joints, feeling the slight vibrations of the mechanisms inside as they adjusted. Shiro didn't pull the hand away. He was worried he might hurt them. A ridiculous concern, he knew, but he treated himself like a bomb, ready to explode and deal damage at the slightest touch.

 

“Can you feel stuff with it?” Pidge asked, innocent and curious. “Can you feel me? What’s it like compared with your other hand?”

 

“Y-yeah, I can feel you,” Shiro answered quietly, hyper aware of how thin human skin is, compared to the aliens he’d beaten in combat. He knew how easy it was to tear human-like skin with the right touch. “I can feel most things pretty accurately.”

 

“So it's connected to your nerves. Interesting. When you move it can you feel the stuff inside moving around, or is it just like moving your real hand and you're not aware of the muscles and other tissues contracting?”

 

“I- Pidge, please…” he choked, feeling a panic begin rising in his chest, and Pidge looked up at him with curiously. Upon seeing his face they let go instantly, scooting out from under his other arm. Shiro let out a small breath that he hadn't realised he had been holding and moved his arm away.

 

“Oh, crap, I didn't… mean to make you uncomfortable, I'm really sorry,” Pidge apologised quickly. Shiro shot them a comforting smile, although it didn't seem like it had worked.

 

“It's fine, I'm just- I didn't want to… I don't know what this thing can do,” he lied. He knew exactly what it could do, and he was terrified of it. All of them should have been terrified of it, terrified of _him ._ Pidge clearly didn’t believe him, their brow creasing in a concerned frown.

 

“Shiro… you have to stop being scared of yourself,” they said firmly, placing a hand on his real arm. The words made him flinch like he’d been stung. Having such a personal truth said aloud by someone else was disarming to say the least.

 

“I’m not-”

 

“Whatever you think you are, whatever _they_ made you think you were - it’s not true.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Shiro replied bitterly.

 

“And you don’t know that you should be scared of yourself. You just are because you think you should be, and you think we should be scared of you to. I’ve seen the way you look at us every time you use that thing,” Pidge added as an explanation as Shiro’s eyes widened in shock. “It’s like you’re expecting us to run away.”

 

“Pidge…” Shiro said slowly, considering his words. “I appreciate it. I really do. But you don’t know what I’ve done. The memories, the ones that come back, they-”

 

“I don’t _care_ , Shiro. That’s what I’m trying to tell you! None of us give a crap about what you’ve done. Well, I mean, we do, because it’s something that’s affected you, y’know? You went through a lot. We don’t know what you’ve done. But we know about the arena. We know…” Pidge paused and took a breath, like they didn’t want to say the rest. “We know it was usually kill or be killed. But we’re not scared of you.”

 

Shiro saw no point of continuing to argue. Pidge was partially right. He would accept defeat in this, if only to avoid more information from coming to light.

 

“Okay,” he conceded. “It’s good to know you guys don’t think you have to be scared of me, anyway.”

 

“Of course we aren’t scared of you, you big doofus,” Pidge pushed his shoulder playfully before squirming underneath his arm again and wrapping their arm across his waist. “You’re our Shiro.”

 

“‘Our Shiro’?” he said in amusement, moving his robotic arm out of the way. Pidge huffed heavily and grabbed the hand, pulling it back and positioning it on their shoulder.

 

“What did I just say about the arm? Jeez. And yeah, you’re our Shiro. You’re like, our big brother. Although between you and me? I’m pretty sure the guys all think you’re really, _really_ hot,” Pidge whispered conspiratorially, and Shiro choked on air.

 

“That’s uh. That’s good to know. I’ll remember to stop doing basically anything around them now. Thanks for that.”

 

“Oh, God, no. No no no no, that’s not what you do with this knowledge,” Pidge said matter-of-factly, almost scolding at his lack of imagination. “What you do is, you totally mess with them. Change in the same room as often as possible. Work out with your shirt off. Flaunt it. It’ll be _so_ funny.”

 

Shiro laughed. “Y’know what? I’ll do it a few times. Just for you, kid.” he ran his hand gently through Pidge’s messy hair as they snuggled closer. They felt totally relaxed against his chest, content and comfortable. Not remotely scared. And not for the first time, Shiro wondered what he had done to deserve people like Pidge and the other paladins in his life.

 

“Shiro?” Pidge mumbled as they slowly drifted off to sleep.

 

“Mhm?”

 

“I don’t really mind if you call me kid,” they admitted, nuzzling into him. “Makes me feel… safe.”

 

Shiro had no idea how to respond to that. He gave their shoulder a gentle squeeze with his robotic hand that he dare not move now, lest he face the wrath of Pidge, and stayed as still as possible while they fell asleep, save for his hand that was still messing with their hair. He stayed there for at least half an hour, content to relax with the young paladin until his thoughts began to turn sour again. If they only knew… they wouldn’t feel safe. His very existence felt like a lie that he was telling them all. Their security was founded on rotting timbers, and it was only a matter of time before they discovered something or he _did something_ that brought it all crashing down.

 

He sighed and slowly maneuvered himself out of Pidge’s grasp, gently taking their glasses off and slipping them into his pocket, then lifted Pidge to take them to their room. Pidge drowsily reached up and rubbed their eyes.

 

“Da- oh. Hi, Shiro,” they said in a tiny voice, their words slurring together. Shiro smiled.

 

“Just taking you to bed, buddy,” he responded softly, adjusting his grip on them. “That okay?”

 

“Mmyeah,” they nodded blearily, wrapping their arms around his neck and dropping their head onto his shoulder as he carried them out of the room. The paladin quarters weren’t far, and it wasn’t long before Shiro was tucking Pidge into bed. Pidge smiled as they pulled the sheets up close to their face and snuggled up, and Shiro placed their glasses on the table by their bed, pausing at the door as he left.

 

“Goodnight, Pidge,” he said, not expecting much in the way of a reply from the half-sleeping person.

 

“‘Night, Shiro,” they managed as he turned off the lights and gently closed the door. It was probably time for him to try to sleep himself, as much as he was loathe to even try. With a resigned grunt, he headed down the corridor towards his room.

  
  


~*~

  


_He didn’t know how long he’d been with the Galra. He didn’t know how many times he’d fought in the blasted arena. He just knew that he had to keep winning._

 

_With one deft kick, Shiro snapped the leg of his competitor as he held them by the… arms? It had been an easy fight. This one was innocent, and certainly no fighter. A trader trying to get by, swept up by Galra patrols during a hunt for smugglers. The Galra didn’t care who they took. Their excuses for gathering healthy life forms were varied, but there was no way they were stupid enough to arrest so many people by mistake. They just wanted fodder for the arena and labour for their mines and factories. The arena was certain death for most, depending on who they fought. By now, though, they had Shiro fighting several opponents a day, depending on how long it took for him to win._

 

_But winning didn’t have to mean killing, no matter how pissed off it made the crowd and the guards._

 

_“Please don’t kill me, please, please-” The fear in the alien’s voice was heart wrenching. Shiro had only killed a dozen or so opponents, and only those who left him no choice - usually violent criminals anyway, so he didn’t feel as disgusted with himself when he left the ring afterwards - but his reputation had spread like wildfire. He was the champion, and he didn’t lose._

 

_Ever._

 

_“Listen to me,” Shiro hissed in their- well, what he assumed was an ear. “I’m not going to kill you. I’ve broken your leg, so they’ll have to send you to the mines instead of making you fight. You’ll be safer there.”_

 

_“I don’t understand…” the alien said, voice high with pain as Shiro let go of them and they fell to the ground, cradling their leg._

 

_“I’m not a monster,” Shiro responded quietly as the klaxons sounded, indicating the end of the match as the Galra realised he wasn’t going to kill this one either. The guards approached to drag them both away, but they were still out of earshot. “And neither are you. You don’t deserve this.”_

 

_“Thank you,” they replied, taking the hint to stay quiet. Shiro didn’t know if the guards had caught onto his ploy yet - they probably had - but it was better safe than sorry, in case they decided to act upon his motivations and reluctance to kill. The alien was hoisted to their feet roughly and taken to the opposite entrance as Shiro was shepherded out by his usual handlers. But they didn’t go towards his gate._

 

_“Where-” Shiro started, but a guard whacked his back with the butt of their gun._

 

_“Silence,” they said gruffly, leading him to a rarely used gate and out of the blood-stained sands of the arena into the dark, dimly lit corridors of the ship. There were no shouts and growls of prisoners here, though. This was the main sector of the ship, not the prison quarters. As they proceeded through the halls, everything got gradually larger and more grand - they finally reached the Galra equivalent of an elevator, and the journey up to whatever floor they went to took at least five minutes._

 

_When the doors opened with a hiss, Shiro found himself in a vast, cavernous room. At the opposite side was a throne, and on that throne was an alien. Something about their very presence filled Shiro with dread, and he knew immediately who he was looking at:_

 

_Emperor Zarkon._

 

_Shiro was pushed forward into the room and led to the foot of the steps leading to the throne. The guards shoved him roughly to his knees and he hissed in pain. Only then did he notice the cloaked figure standing by the Emperor; the witch Haggar, a figure he had seen amongst the prisoners before, selecting unwilling participants for her experiments. She remained totally silent, as did Zarkon. Whatever the hell was going on, Shiro would like them to get a damn move on._

 

_“This is a really good talk we’re having,” he said lightly, crying out as one of the guards swung their gun into the side of his face, knocking him to the side. He wiped blood from his lips and spat out a mouthful as Zarkon chuckled._

 

 _“He certainly has spirit, Haggar,” the Emperor commented, as though he was choosing a pet. “But he’s rather …_ small _,_ _compared to your previous projects.”_

 

_“This one’s quintessence is practically pulsing with potential,” Haggar replied, her yellow eyes piercing through Shiro. “He will make an excellent addition to your army. Perhaps the strongest. You’ve seen him in the arena. He has killed almost all of your mightiest gladiators.”_

 

_Zarkon hummed thoughtfully, eyeing Shiro. “I am Emperor Zarkon,” he introduced himself needlessly, addressing Shiro for the first time._

 

_“I figured,” Shiro huffed, getting back onto his knees._

 

_“Haggar thinks you have the potential to be one of my most feared, most powerful soldiers.”_

 

_“I have no interest in fighting for you. I’m not a killer.”_

 

_“Your record in the arena says otherwise,” he pointed out. Shiro winced._

 

_“I only kill when I have to.”_

 

_“And you intend to continue? How long will your resolve last?” Zarkon said thoughtfully. “I offer you a chance to be free of the arena and the filth that occupy it, to fight for the good of the Empire.”_

 

 _“No,” Shiro said defiantly. Not a chance. From what he had gathered, this_ beast _was the cause of all the misery in the known universe, and Shiro wasn’t about to contribute to it. “The only reason I fight in your damn arena is to stay alive.”_

 

_“And if I threatened to kill you if you didn’t comply with my wishes? What then, human?” Zarkon’s jagged maw curved into a slight smile as Shiro hesitated. “If survival is your goal, would this not be the same thing?”_

 

_“I will not kill for you.”_

 

 _“But you already do,” he replied, tilting his head slightly in mock confusion. “Who do you think you fight in my arena,_ Champion _? They are all enemies of my empire, in one way or another. Law-breakers, traitors, freedom-fighters. You take them out. Everyone who enters the arena to fight you emerges maimed or_ dead _.”_

 

_“I-I have no choice,” Shiro argues. Zarkon was playing mind games with him. Shiro decided not to mention that he deliberately injured even his weakest opponents to get them sent somewhere else, away from the arena to somewhere less dramatically life-and-death._

 

_“You could refuse to fight and die at the hands of any low-life I throw at you, yet you do not. You make this choice again and again; You, or them. And it is always you. All I offer is a chance to survive with a purpose.”_

 

_“Fighting as a prisoner is one thing. Fighting as a tool of your Empire is another. If my choice is to fight for you or die, then I’ll gladly fall on the next sword I see,” Shiro said through gritted teeth, glaring at the alien. Zarkon’s smile became a sneer as he leaned forward in his throne, staring down at him._

 

 _“Your petty morals mean nothing to me,_ boy, _” he growled in… amusement? “I have been assured that you will make an excellent addition to my forces - perhaps the best. No matter how much you resist, you_ will _fight for me. I shall make sure of it. Take him to the druids’ chambers,” he instructed Shiro’s guards with a wave of his hand as he sat back in his throne, turning to address Haggar. “I give you full authorisation for whatever experiments you wish to run. See that they succeed, Haggar.”_

 

 _Shiro’s blood ran cold as the guards pulled him too his feet and began dragging him out of the throne room._ Experiments _? “Hey, no, you can’t-! What experiments!?”_

 

_“I believe we’ll see eachother again, Champion,” Zarkon responded. “Perhaps you will be more compliant next time.”_

  


~*~

  


Shiro woke with a yell. He always did. Sweating and shaking, he pushed himself upright, untangling himself from the sheets and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Images continued to flash behind his eyes, of blood and Haggar and fear and bone and pain and bright, surgical lights. He ran a hand through his hair, shuddering and jolting his hand away as the sensation reminded him of a distant memory of the witch.

 

Going by the dimmed lights it was still early, but there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. He had managed an hour, maybe two. It would have to do. As usual, the thought of confiding in someone about all this briefly crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. He had to be strong for the other paladins, for Allura, for Coran. For the whole universe. He was the backbone. He was the head.

 

Which was ironic, really, considering that his own head was so royally screwed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: my usual headcanons for shiro's age range from 19 to around 23
> 
> It's been two years since I finished a fic. Welp.
> 
> I personally headcanon Pidge as non-binary, so I've used they/them pronouns.
> 
> Strap yourselves in folks, this is gonna get rough.
> 
> Each chapter will have a section set in current events, and a section focusing on a flashback/nightmare. 
> 
> Fic title was inspired by the song 'All for One', by Five for Fighting


	2. Keith

“Man, I’m _beat_ ,” Hunk huffed as he landed heavily on the couch, squeaking slightly as Lance threw himself on top of him in an equally worn out manner. “Lance. Buddy. Please move.”

 

“Too tired, sorry,” Lance mumbled, his eyes shut, but there was a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. They had been working hard on the training deck for the better part of the day; of course he was tired. They all were. Dinner had been devoured even quicker than usual after long, hot showers, and it was time to settle down for the night. But Lance was just being, well, Lance. No amount of hard work seemed to exhaust his penchant for getting on people’s nerves - in the most lovable way possible, of course.

 

“Lance…” Shiro sighed.

 

“He’s _comfortable_ ,” Lance whined.

 

“Didn’t you have something you wanted to do tonight?” Pidge asked him, receiving a grateful thumbs up from Hunk as Lance leapt to his feet once more, all exhaustion forgotten.

 

“OH! Yeah! So I was talking to Coran about how Alteans passed the time on long voyages, since we’ve already used basically every game known to humankind. Except I Spy. Which, by the way, I still think was a _totally viable_ option-”

 

“There’s nothing to spy! We’re in _space_!” Pidge said incredulously. This was a conversation Shiro had heard many, many times.

 

“Uh, I beg to differ, my miniature friend,” he argued. Pidge threw their arms up and slumped back on the sofa with an expression of pure disbelief.

 

“Okay, enlighten me. Look out that window and tell me what you see. That _doesn’t_ begin with ‘s’,” they added quickly as Lance opened his mouth. He snapped it shut again and frowned as he examined the starscape. The silence stretched awkwardly as he studied the view.

 

“Planet!” he said eventually, pointing out the window with a smug grin. Keith joined him by the glass and squinted.

 

“That’s a bit of dirt on the glass,” he said with a smirk. Lance’s grin faded as Keith rubbed the ‘planet’ away. Pidge giggled.

 

“Anyway,” Shiro interrupted before the situation could get out of hand, as it so often did, “You were saying, Lance?”

 

“Yeah. As I was saying. Coran was telling me about this ridiculous game that they used to play where one person is…” Lance rocketed off into a long-winded explanation of the alien game, talking animatedly over the rules. Keith rose silently from his seat halfway through and moved to leave the room, quite clearly hoping he wouldn’t be noticed. Shiro said nothing, but Pidge caught sight of him at the doorway.

 

“Aren’t you gonna stay?” they piped up.

 

“Nah, I’m good,” Keith replied with a wave of his hand. “Later, guys.”

 

“Maybe he’s just afraid he’s going to lose to the cooler paladin!” Lance shouted, loud enough to carry into the hallway. “The one with the awesome blue lion! AND THE COOL HAIR-” Pidge clamped their hand over Lance’s mouth.

 

“Dude. Volume,” they said, their tone disapproving. They yelped suddenly and pulled their hand away. “OH MY _GOD_ DID YOU JUST LICK ME?”

 

“What was that about volume?”

 

“ _GROSS._ ”

 

Whilst Pidge launched themselves at Lance, who was beside himself with laughter, Hunk shuffled along the couch to a slightly safer position. Shiro shook his head with an amused smile as he stood, meaning to follow the red paladin. Pidge looked up from where they now had Lance in a headlock.

 

“Are you leaving too?” they frowned.

 

“Sorry, kiddo, I want to go talk to Keith,” he apologised, ruffling their hair.

 

“He never stays when we chill out at night,” Lance shrugged, still in Pidge’s tight grip. He attempted to wriggle free, and Pidge tightened their arm around his neck. “Little help, fearless leader?”

 

“That’s what I want to talk to him about,” he replied, ignoring Lance’s plea for help. Keith’s insistence on isolating himself from the team was understandable to an extent; he had always needed plenty of time to recharge by himself, and being almost constantly in the company of the others was undoubtedly tiring, but Shiro couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else to his reluctance to hang around at night.

 

“D’you want us to wait for you to get back before we start? If we start?” Hunk asked, stifling a laugh as Lance struggled. Shiro shook his head.

 

“No, you three go on ahead. If I don’t come back don’t stay up too late, okay?” he instructed, knowing his words would most likely be forgotten the moment he left the room. The three of them nodded, smiling innocently - a ridiculous sight, considering Lance’s current predicament.

 

“Uh- Shiro?” Lance called out as he left the lounge. Shiro grinned.

 

“Goodnight Lance.”

 

“Um- You didn’t- Pidge is still trying to kill me! SHIRO! I CAN’T DIE, YOU NEED ME! I’M A _LEG!_ ”

 

Keith was nowhere to be seen in his quarters, and Shiro doubted he would have gone back to the training deck so soon after the work they had done earlier. Unable to think of anywhere else he could be, Shiro headed for the red lion’s hangar. His footsteps echoed around the cavernous room as he entered through the open bay doors. It didn’t take him long to spot Keith; he was perched on one of his lion’s enormous paws with his back against the leg, a sketchpad propped up on his legs in front of him.

 

“Hey, buddy,” Shiro said as he approached, his voice carrying easily across the distance. Keith didn’t look up from whatever he was drawing.

 

“You’re not going to make me go back and play some dumb game, are you?” he asked as Shiro climbed onto the paw and settled down beside him. The page Keith was working on had several sketches of his lion in varying levels of detail. His talent had improved since Shiro had left for Kerberos.

 

“No, just checking on you. We haven’t had much time to talk since… well, everything,” Shiro finished awkwardly. “And you’ve been kinda distant lately. Something on your mind?”

 

“Well, we’re in space, we pilot giant robot lions, my friend is back from the dead, I’m stuck on a giant castle ship with Lance…” Keith listed, counting on his fingers with a slight smile as Shiro snorted with laughter. “But no, not really.”

 

“Oh come on, he’s not that bad,” Shiro grinned.

 

“We’re talking about the same Lance, right? Tall, lanky, thinks he’s hot shit and doesn’t shut up? That Lance?” he scoffed. “I’ll take my lion and my sketchbook over that idiot any day, thanks.”

 

“Speaking of your sketchbook, you’re even better than I remember,” Shiro complimented him, reaching for the pad as he had often done in the past. Keith tensed and moved it out of the way, his grip tightening on the pages. Shiro frowned; there had never been an issue with him looking at his friend’s drawings before.

 

“Last time you saw any of it was over a year and a half ago. Things tend to change when time passes like that,” Keith responded, an edge forming on his voice. An uncomfortable air developed between them as Shiro pulled his hand back. Keith relaxed slightly, his drawings no longer under threat. “But, uh, thanks,” he added.

 

“You’re welcome,” he replied uncertainly.

 

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to those idiots before they kill each other or set something on fire?” Keith asked after a short pause, closing the book.

 

“Nah, they’ll be fine for a while. I hope,” he said, shaking his head with a laugh. Pidge probably still had Lance in a headlock. “I know you like them, Keith. You like all of them.”

 

“Hunk and Pidge? Maybe. For Lance, though, the word you’re looking for is ‘tolerate’.”

 

“You should try hanging out with them more,” Shiro said, nudging him affectionately with his shoulder. “I know you would enjoy their company if you just gave them a chance.”

 

“I don’t _want_ to give them a chance,” Keith grumbled.

 

“Why not?” he asked, confused. “You know we’re going to be out here for… well, for a while. Everything depends on us being close and working together.”

 

“We can form Voltron perfectly. I don’t need to be best buds with everyone. I’m not _you._ ”

 

“Keith-”

 

“Stop. Just stop, Shiro. I don’t wanna hear another one of your ‘we’re a team’ lectures. I don’t want to make friends out here, got it?” Keith snapped, his temper flaring as he slid off the lion’s paw and stalked away. Shiro jumped down after him.

 

“Hey, what’s your problem?” Shiro asked harshly in response to the outburst, grabbing Keith’s arm to hold him back. The younger man spun, yanking his arm out of his grip.

 

“You died!” He yelled, his voice echoing around the hangar. Shiro took a step back, surprised at the sudden change of volume. “That’s my problem, Shiro! You were _dead_!”

 

“What does that have to do with anything?” he responded. Hurt blazed in Keith’s eyes as he gritted his teeth.

 

“It has _everything_ to do with it! How can you expect me to get close to people after what happened to you? Do you have _any_ idea what it’s like to be told that your only friend has died in space? Do you!?” Keith demanded, his fists clenched at his side. “I didn’t have anyone but you, and then you were gone.”

 

“You’re right, I don’t know what that feels like. But that’s no reason to push people away,” Shiro said quietly, attempting to bring the conversation down to an acceptable volume. Keith scoffed like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

 

“You’re fucking unbelievable,” he responded flatly, looking at the ceiling. “I lost the only friend I ever allowed myself to make, and you expect me to make _more?_ ”

 

“You didn’t lose me, Keith. I’m right here,” Shiro said, stepping towards him. Keith moved away.

 

“No, you’re not,” Keith snapped. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re not him. The Shiro that left for Kerberos is gone. And the one who took his place should try to remember that.”

 

Shiro’s heart stopped. A flash of regret crossed the younger paladin’s eyes but he turned and walked away without another word, leaving Shiro standing at the feet of the red lion. He eventually willed his feet to move, carrying him out of the empty hangar into the gradually darkening halls of the castle. The evening cycle had started. He passed by the lounge, pausing briefly at the doorway to listen to the laughs and shouts coming from inside. Lance, Hunk and Pidge were clearly enjoying whatever weird alien game they had discovered earlier, but Shiro didn’t have the heart to join them. Not now. Keith, of course, was nowhere to be seen or heard.

 

When Shiro reached the paladin wing of the castle, he turned into the bathroom. No one was going to come by any time soon, he thought; Keith was probably back on the training deck, and Lance, Hunk, and Pidge would use the bathroom closer to the lounge. He knew he shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t allow himself to wallow in self pity, but a part of him was telling him that he deserved to. He braced his hands against one of the sinks and stared at his reflection in the mirror above it.

 

Shiro didn’t know when his hair had gone shockingly white at the front, with scattered colourless strands throughout the rest of his hair - the Galra hadn’t exactly kept mirrors around - but he assumed it had been caused by one of the many methods of torture they had used. His natural black colour hadn’t returned even as it had grown out over the past few months and much of his hair remained greyed, making him look much older than he actually was. The scar that cut across his nose, a deep indented gash dividing his features, was jagged and ugly. He couldn’t quite remember how it had happened yet, either, but every now and then it would throb and remind him that it was there. He remembered the incident being painful. Everything he remembered from his time with the Galra was painful.

 

He pushed himself off the sink and pulled his shirt over his head, bunching it up and throwing it to the floor as he looked at himself in disgust. What was left of his right arm was fused with the metal and heavily burned, the scars twisted and bunched. Lichtenberg figures spread out from the area like branches of lightning, twisting up and across his shoulder before fading out. The rest of his body was just as scarred. Some were deep crevasses in his flesh like the one on his face, and others were lumped and raised. Slices and gashes of various sizes and thickness littered his chest, abdomen, back and flesh-and-blood arm, criss-crossing, some of them disappearing around his waist or over his shoulders to continue on his back. Many were bunched close and in parallel with each other, as though they were made by the claws of various different beasts.  There was a large burn on the left side of his back that crept around his waist, pink and white and rough.

 

He remembered this one. A fireball, blasting into him as he dodged just a millisecond too late. He had continued through that fight in agony, as he had done through so many of them, until he had won. He had always won.

 

There were many small scars that appeared to be stab wounds, and several smaller round burns that he assumed were caused by lasers of some kind. Two rows of small scars in semi-circular formation marked opposite sides of his forearm, suggesting something had clamped its jaw around it at some point. There were several scars that Shiro knew were the result of torture, too. He hated all of it. He hated his destroyed body, hated his arm, even hated his physique to an extent, because it too had been ‘enhanced’ by Galra tech. He was branded by them like cattle, forever marked both inside and out. His head was a mess and they still had access to his mind, somehow, when they were close enough. Haggar and Sendak had proven that. He wasn’t sure how much control they would have over him if they tried to take over. He already looked like a Galra monster; if his mind was as damaged as his body, he doubted it would take much effort on their part.

 

Shiro had been standing for at least half an hour now, biting his lip as once again he catalogued every single mark on his upper body, his revulsion steadily building until he couldn’t take it any longer. He roared as he struck out, shattering the mirror with his flesh-and-blood fist, holding it in place as shards of glass fell to the floor and into the sink basin. Keith had been right. He wasn’t Shiro. He was mistrustful, wary, volatile. He looked like the beasts he had faced in the arena, scarred and angry. He _was_ an arena beast. The Shiro that had left for Kerberos was gone, and had been gone for a long time.

 

“Shiro? Shiro is that-?” in the shards of glass that had remained on the wall, Shiro saw a distorted reflection of Keith as he entered the bathroom, stopping in his tracks at what he saw. There was an expression of horror in his face. Of course there was. No one had ever seen how damaged he was, how disgusting his body was. He shut his eyes and allowed his head to fall to his chest as he pulled his hand away, letting the last few shards fall with a sharp clatter and bracing himself against the sink once more. He couldn’t bring himself to turn and face his friend. Not now that he had seen him like this.

 

“Holy _shit_ , you-”

 

“Don’t,” Shiro said shakily. “I know I’m a monster. I don’t need anyone to tell me that.”

 

“Wha-? Shiro you’re _bleeding_ ,” Keith exclaimed, his voice high with concern. Shiro opened his eyes. The sink was stained red from the blood pumping heavily from lacerations on his fist. Several shards of glass were embedded in his hand. He stared in shock.

 

“Oh,” was all he could manage. Now that he had noticed the injuries, they throbbed painfully. Keith grabbed his wrist and pulled the injured hand towards him.

 

“This is gonna hurt, okay? Try to hold as still as possible,” he instructed before beginning to gently pry the glass from Shiro’s knuckles. Shiro hissed through his teeth, fighting the urge to tighten the grip of his other hand on the sink. The last thing he needed was to break something else. There was a faint _clink_ every time Keith pried another piece out of his skin, letting them fall into the bloodstained basin. It didn’t take long for him to remove them all. He reached to the other side of the sink, keeping one hand on Shiro’s arm as he grabbed a towel to staunch the steady flow of blood.

 

“We gotta hold this down tight,” Keith said. His hands were covered in Shiro’s blood. “C’mon, sit down over here. Away from the glass.”

 

Shiro silently complied, allowing Keith to lead him to the opposite wall and sat with a heavy thump. The pristine castle wall was cool on his bare skin. The previously spotless floor of the bathroom was covered in broken glass and spattered with blood. A lot of blood. And the floor wasn’t even where most of it had went.

 

“What the hell were you doing!?” Keith demanded angrily as he kneeled beside him, still holding the towel tightly to Shiro’s hand. Shiro wasn’t sure how to answer; it felt silly now. ‘I punched my reflection because I hate myself’ wasn’t an overly respectable statement.

 

“I… I don’t know,” he replied weakly. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He hadn’t went into the bathroom with the intent of shattering a mirror. Keith snorted.

 

“Well I do. You were being an idiot,” he said. “You may not like yourself, but don’t you think hitting yourself in the face is a bit extreme?”

 

“I didn’t mean to- I don’t know what I meant to do,” he admitted.

 

“Why were you even in here?”

 

“Reminding myself that you’re right,” he said, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want Keith to feel responsible for this. Keith stared at him.

 

“What?”

 

“Look at me,” Shiro huffed a short, humourless laugh. He could feel tears building up in his eyes. “I’m not Shiro. I’m… _this,_ ” he gestured at himself with his mechanical hand, grimacing as it clicked and whirred as if to reinforce his point. Keith looked at Shiro’s scarred torso as if he hadn’t even noticed it before, too busy focusing on the fresh injuries.

 

“Jesus, Takashi, what did they do to you?” he said softly, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. Shiro’s breath hitched. No one had called him Takashi for a long time. The use of his first name was something so deeply personal between them that it brought a tear streaking down his cheek, but he shook his head. That was something he was never going to tell. Not even to someone he had known as long as Keith. Keith took the hint and moved to grab Shiro’s discarded shirt, his feet crunching on the glass. He examined Shiro’s wounds as he peeled the blood-soaked towel away.

 

“You might need to go to the medical bay,” he said, packing the shirt tightly onto the wounds and settling back against the wall beside him.

 

“Yeah. Okay,” Shiro replied, putting his head back against the wall. He felt exhausted. “I’m sorry, Keith.”

 

Keith blinked. “For what?”

 

“For not being Shiro anymore. I’m sorry a monster replaced him.”

 

“Oh for the love of- what is it with this monster thing? You think some scars make you a monster?” he said in annoyance.

 

“You don’t know about the rest,” Shiro replied, looking away. Keith’s lips formed a tight line. He was silent for a moment.

 

“Whatever you think you are, you’re not. Get out of this self-pity because it won’t do you any good. I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier. I’m just… never mind. We’ll talk about it later. I got mad. I didn’t mean it. I don’t want you thinking like this, okay? Not a single thing in this universe could make me think you were a monster. Got it?”

 

Shiro didn't believe that was entirely true, but he didn't argue. “Yeah. Got it.”

 

Keith nodded to himself, standing and offering his hand. “Come on, let's get you cleaned up.” Shiro hesitated before reaching up with the mechanical arm to take it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet and noticing just how much blood was crusting onto Keith's own hands, feeling a fresh wave of guilt as he was led from the room. They stopped by Shiro’s room to grab a clean shirt in case they passed anyone else, as unlikely as that was, before going to the medical bay.

 

Shiro stood silently as Keith poked around in the cupboards for the right supplies. Bandages were easy enough to identify, but Allura and Coran had had to compile a translation list for the various bottles of medicines and treatments. Keith was examining the list closely as he held a bottle of clear fluid in his other hand, his eyes darting between the two items as he compared the writing. The bleeding had slowed almost to a stop now, but Keith was adamant that they had to put some sort of antibacterial wash or disinfectant on it.

 

“Okay, I’m pretty sure this is the disinfectant,” he said, pressing a wad of cotton-like material to the mouth of the bottle and tipping it upside down briefly.

 

“Pretty sure?” Shiro raised an eyebrow.

 

“It’s either a disinfectant or something highly corrosive, the names look pretty similar,” he shrugged. Shiro stared at him. “Oh my God, Takashi, I’m joking. It’s the disinfectant. Gimme your hand.” Shiro hissed through his teeth as Keith gently applied the treatment. It turned out that alien disinfectants stung just as bad as the ones back on Earth did.

 

“Thanks, Keith,” he said as Keith reached for the roll of bandages. He shrugged.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, wrapping the bandages tightly around his hand. “That's what friends are for, right?”

 

Shiro was taken aback by the comment. “So… we're good?”

 

“Why wouldn't we- oh,” Keith interrupted himself, a slight blush creeping into his pale cheeks. He sighed as he secured the bandage and moved to put the disinfectant back, leaving Shiro waiting patiently for the rest of his response. He shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his boots on the floor. “Listen, I… I didn't mean what I said earlier. When I said you weren't Shiro… I guess that's just what I've been telling myself. I didn't want to believe that you were back. It was easier to pretend you weren't you.”

 

Shiro’s brow creased in a frown. “Why?”

 

“Because I spent a year thinking you were gone. It hurt _so bad_. When you came back, I didn't _want_ to believe it at first, and then we got caught up in all this, and… if I accepted that you were back and then lost you again, I don't know how I'd deal with that. I don't think I could,” he paused, biting his lip. “That's why I've avoided talking to the others much too, I guess.”

 

“You should've come to talk to me, buddy,” Shiro said. “I get it. I do. The possibility of something happening to you - to any of you - absolutely terrifies me. But it’s a part of our lives, now. You gotta learn to live with that without letting it crush you.”

 

Keith pushed himself up to sit on the counter and ran his fingers through his hair. He seemed to be thinking carefully over his next words. “Y’know, when they said you were dead, I… I got lost. I got angry - well, angrier than usual, I guess,” he added with a slight smirk. “They said it was pilot error, but I knew that couldn’t have been true, so I started trying to get into the main offices to check their computers. They found out. I got expelled.”

 

“That’s why you were kicked out?” Shiro asked, surprised. Keith hadn’t told anyone the reason before then, so Lance’s frequent snipes about Keith’s ‘behavioural misconduct’ was all anyone in the castle had known. Keith nodded as Shiro joined him on the counter.

 

“I never got a chance to see the files. All I knew was that you weren’t going to be coming back, and it hurt. It hurt _so much_. I don’t want to feel like that again, Shiro. Every time i feel myself getting close with the others I tell myself to back off. I figure it’ll save me pain in the long run.”

 

“You can’t just avoid stuff because of what _might_ happen. If we all did that, the universe would be stuck in Zarkon’s clutches forever. And - God forbid - if something did happen to one of the others, do you think you’d be less affected if you weren’t close? You would just feel guilty about what you could’ve had. The regret would kill you, Keith.”

 

“I guess,” he sighed, resting his head on Shiro’s shoulder. “I haven’t done a very good job about not caring anyway.”

 

“I noticed,” Shiro huffed out a laugh, wrapping his arm around Keith’s shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry for giving you shit earlier. I shouldn’t complain, really. You had a worse year than I did.”

 

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I don’t even remember most of it. But what you said about me earlier was right. Ah, let me finish,” Shiro scolded playfully as Keith scowled and opened his mouth to argue. “It would be wrong to say that I hadn’t changed. Whatever happened, I’m not the same as I was, and I don’t think I can ever get back to that.”

 

“No one expects you to. No one in the universe could go through half of what you did and stay the same. But you’re still Shiro. You always will be. No matter what your bratty friend said when he lost his temper,” he added with an embarrassed smile. Shiro bowed his head.

 

“Thanks, pal. That means a lot.”

 

They sat together in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s presence for the first time since before the Kerberos mission, and Shiro felt a weight lifting from his shoulders that he hadn’t realised he had been carrying. Keith was… he was the only thing Shiro had out here from before his time with the Galra. He felt ridiculous, having not realised the strain on their relationship before, but in his defence they _had_ been fighting an evil alien empire almost constantly since they were reunited, and Keith had been avoiding everyone during any downtime they managed to get.

 

“I know games aren’t your thing, but you should stay the next time the others are messing around. Even if you don’t join in, they’ll appreciate it,” Shiro said as they wandered back through the darkened hallways of the castle.

 

“Yeah, I think I might do that.” Keith replied. A quiet skittering just down the hall caught their attention; Allura’s mice were dragging the broken glass out of the bathroom on a sheet, folded over into a parcel. The large yellow mouse exited the bathroom with a bloodstained cloth trailing behind it. It paused as it saw them, squeaking to its friends before scampering over. It made a motion of moving it’s paw across its mouth and gave him a thumbs up before running off again, picking up the soiled cloth and rejoining the other mice as they turned the corner.

 

“Uh. I think the mouse just told you its lips were sealed?” Keith suggested, staring for a moment before breaking into a fit of giggles. Shiro couldn’t help himself from beaming at the sight. It seemed their conversation had lifted a weight off Keith’s shoulders, too.

 

“I think so,” Shiro agreed, chuckling. The fact that ten-thousand year old space mice just mimed at them was definitely absurd enough to warrant a laugh.

 

“Hey, whatchu guys laughing at?” Lance called from behind them. The other three paladins were approaching from the direction of the kitchen, snacks in hand. Keith shook his head, shoulders still shaking with laughter.

 

“Nothing,” he called back with a grin, glancing at Shiro. Shiro raised an eyebrow and tilted his head ever so slightly in the direction of the approaching group, not enough for them to notice, but enough for Keith to get the message. A brief flicker of doubt crossed his face.

 

“I’ll come too, if that’ll help,” he suggested quietly. Keith nodded, steeling himself.

 

“Okay. Yeah.”

 

“Hey, you guys still hanging out?” Shiro asked when they reached them.

 

“Yup. And now we have _snacks,_ ” Lance answered, waving a bag of… something in their faces for emphasis. “We’re in it for the long haul tonight, baby!”

 

“He found out I have a hard drive full of movies because _someone_ couldn’t keep their mouth shut,” Pidge said out of the corner of their mouth, side-eyeing Hunk.

 

“C’mon, man, I didn’t know it was a secret! I just thought it would be a fun way to spend the evening, y’know?” Hunk wailed, looking only slightly guilty about the whole thing. His eyes snapped to Shiro’s bandaged hand. “Woah, what happened to you?”

 

“Keith and I were on the training deck. Got caught off-guard by a bot,” he said, uncomfortable at how easily he had pulled a bullshit excuse from thin air, but apparently he was still a terrible liar. Pidge narrowed their eyes, saying nothing, and Lance and Hunk eyed him suspiciously.

 

“Right,” Lance muttered, but didn’t push it. “Anyway, you coming? We’re gonna watch Star Wars!”

 

“Are we?” Pidge asked. “I don’t remember making this decision.”

 

“Of _course_ we are. We’re in space, fighting an evil all-powerful army, and all we have on our side is friendship and magical science stuff that no one really understands, and none of us are straight. We’re practically _living_ Star Wars right now!” he replied as he sauntered off down the hallway, leaving the rest of them to catch up.

 

“Well’ I’m game for Star Wars,” Keith shrugged. Lance stopped dead. Hunk crashed into him.

 

“You’re coming too?” he asked as he stumbled, eyes threatening to pop out of his head. Keith blushed.

 

“Uh. Yeah. If- if that’s ok?” he said shyly, glancing in Shiro’s direction.

 

“TOTALLY! I didn’t know you liked Star Wars!” Lance whooped loudly, punching the air. He resumed walking, throwing an arm around Keith’s shoulder. The red paladin looked somewhat uncomfortable with the sudden show of affection, but smiled all the same.

 

“Who _doesn’t?_ ” he scoffed.

 

“ _Losers_ , that’s who. Losers, Keith. Which is why I thought you probably didn’t.”

 

“Oh. My God, I’m going to hit you,” he grumbled.

 

“Please don’t, my face is too pretty to be hit.”

 

“It really isn’t.”

 

“That’s hurtful. I’m hurt.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Who’s your favourite character?”

 

“Poe. Yours?”

 

“Same! Oh, man, the part in episode nine when he admits his feelings for Finn? _So good._ Han comes pretty close to him on my list of favourites, though. Who’s your fave, Shiro? I’m guessiiiiiing… Obi-Wan? You’re kinda like Obi-Wan. All fatherly ‘n badass ‘n shit.”

 

“Nice guess,” Shiro grinned. “It’s a tie between him and Leia. What about you two?” he asked the others. Pidge rolled their eyes.

 

“The droids. _Obviously_ the droids. Rey and Leia are pretty freakin’ cool though.”

 

“Oh, man, this is so unfair. I love all of them!” Hunk responded, looking concerned. “I mean, not _all_ of them, some of them are _terrible,_ but choosing a favourite is so hard…”

 

The conversation continued as they returned to the lounge. Pidge dimmed the lights and set up a small projector they had rigged up out of Altean tech, connecting it to their laptop. When they had said a hard drive full of movies, they had meant _full._ There must’ve been thousands of movies on it. Shiro wasn’t sure he wanted to know where they all came from, and he doubted Pidge even knew what half of them were. They decided on episode nine and settled on the couch; Shiro found himself buried in the middle, with Keith on one side and Pidge on the other. Hunk sat himself on the other side of Keith, offering him food from one of the many bags they had acquired. Lance, being Lance, decided to splay himself across everyone’s laps, his lanky frame digging into them.

 

“Hey Keith, is that a knife or-”

 

“It’s a knife, and I _will_ use it.”

 

“Okay. I respect that. That’s a thing that I respect. I respect your knife. Hunk, is-”

 

“It’s a packet of biscuits in my pocket.” Hunk responded before he could finish.

 

“Shir-”

 

“Lance…” Shiro interrupted warningly. That was quite enough dick jokes for now.

 

“Yessir?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Yessir.”

 

As the opening scroll started, they fell into a companionable silence. The only sounds were the iconic fanfare of the movie and the crunch of alien snack foods as they all tried - and failed - to eat discreetly. Fifteen minutes into the movie, everyone had shuffled slightly and fully settled into each other, becoming what could only be described as a cuddle pile. Lance, for all his excitement, seemed to be drifting off to sleep across their laps with his head on Hunk’s knee as Hunk gently ran his hands through his friend’s hair. Pidge snuggled into Shiro with an arm wrapped around his waist, and Keith rested his head on his shoulder just as he had done in the medical bay. Shiro had his arms around their shoulders, his metal fingertips brushing against Hunk’s shoulder, and Hunk had looped his free arm through Keith’s. Everyone was leaning on the person next to them - or in Lance’s case, on everyone at once, and it was the closest and most relaxed they had ever been as a group.

 

Keith tilted his head slightly to look up at Shiro, the reflection of the movie flickering across his eyes in the dark as he mouthed ‘thank you’. Shiro smiled and squeezed his shoulders, responding with a silent ‘no problem’. As Keith settled his head back to where it had been, Shiro decided to make a suggestion to the team when the movie was over; He quite liked the idea of doing this more often. Once every couple of weeks, maybe, to preserve their supply of movies.

 

Unsurprisingly, they all liked the idea too.

 

~*~

 

_Shiro was dragged down to the bowels of the ship. He had no idea where he was now. The witch Haggar was leading the group deeper and deeper, down dim twisting corridors. If Shiro hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought that she and the druids had been shoved into the basement, but he knew how the Galra valued their work. Most likely, they were so far down to stop anything they created from getting to the main bulk of the ship. Eventually, they reached a large set of doors that opened with a hydraulic hiss as various clamps and bolts undid themselves. Bright, white light spilled out onto the newcomers._

 

_The room was cavernous, like every other space on the ship, filled with technology that he didn’t even want to know the purpose of. Works in progress and terrifying machines were visible everywhere you looked, and Shiro was pretty sure there was a charred corpse inside one along the far wall. In the center of the room, highlighted from directly above by one of the several large bright lights that spanned the room, was what could only be taken as a torture table. It was a thick metal slab, tilted to a steep angle. Metal clamps at various positions sat open, ready to hold its next victim down as the druids performed their experiments. Something told him that’s exactly where he was going._

 

_He was right._

 

_He struggled against the guards, but they managed to hold him to the table long enough to clasp the metal restraints around his arms, holding him in place, then his legs, and a final bar clamped around his chest. Haggar approached the table, hissing through her jagged teeth as she reached for his face. He tried to jolt away, still pulling uselessly at the clamps and turning his head away as her talons lightly traced along his jaw._

 

_“Now now, there’s no need for that,” Haggar said quietly, a terrible smile on her face as she took hold of his chin and turned him back to her. She continued hissing, threading her crooked fingers through Shiro’s hair, and- it wasn’t hissing. She was_ shhh _-ing him._

 

_“Get away from me,” he panted, feeling thoroughly creeped out by the…_ caresses _of this hag. He shuddered with revulsion at the feeling of this thing touching him like this. The other druids were busying themselves with various pieces of equipment, bathed in the harsh clinical light of the room that was totally out of place in comparison with the rest of the ship, which was almost entirely lit in a low purple glow. It was beginning to remind him of a surgery. He didn’t want to spend too long on that train of thought._

 

_“You will be my most beautiful creation,” Haggar cooed, her rotten breath almost making him gag. “The strongest agent this Empire has ever seen.”_

 

_“What the hell are you going to do to me?” Shiro hissed at the witch as she traced her claw along his right arm almost dreamily. She smiled at him, and as she spoke he turned his head away again in a vain attempt to escape the vile stench of her breath._

 

_“I’m going to improve you.”_

 

_“Wh-” Shiro was cut off by the sound of technology powering up. He looked to the side and saw a druid approaching with a complicated device, large enough to encompass his arm and pulsing with that weird purple magic the Galra used. There were hundreds of small, sharp appendages on the machine, beginning to twitch and activate as the magic flowed through it, the blades glinting horribly in the light._

 

_“Remove all of the outer layers from the elbow down, and then we can selectively remove everything else. We don’t want to just cut it all off. The last thing I want is to damage our new weapon. And contain as much of his blood within his body as you can. I don’t care how much quintessence you have to use.” Haggar instructed as two other druids approached the control panel on the machine. Suddenly the clamp around Shiro’s right wrist retracted, but before he could react the bladed device clamped over his entire forearm and hand, holding it so tightly he could barely twitch his fingers._

 

_“No, no, no no no no, don’t-” Shiro screamed in agony as dozens of the blades began methodically slicing his skin, stripping it from his muscles. The pain was unlike anything he had felt before. It didn’t take long for them to finish the job, despite their careful approach; they had evidently practised this. Shiro felt almost delirious with pain. His sight was distorted with sweat and tears, but he could make out the shape of Haggar, her shining eyes watching him with interest as he was torn up._

 

_And then they started taking his arm apart with microscopic precision._

 

_Shiro couldn’t scream anymore; his throat was raw, pulsing with pain with each choked, gasping sob. This was taking much, much longer, or at least it felt like it. The passage of time had blurred. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. His hand was gone, bones and ligaments and muscles all deconstructed like an old shuttle engine. They were stripping the flesh and bone from his arm piece by piece. He could barely see now, his vision dark and glazed despite the glaring light shining down on him. Why hadn’t he passed out? He should have passed out by now. He wanted to pass out. Somehow, they weren’t letting him. Shiro barely had any awareness beyond the agony in his arm. What used to be his arm. It was probably all gone now. Phantom pains for a limb that wasn’t even there._

 

_Shiro heard one of the druids speak, but their voice was distant and muffled. Haggar responded. Another druid approached. There was suddenly a fresh wave of pain as something seared into the flesh of his upper arm, and the only response he could give was a whimper. He wanted to curl up somewhere away from the pain. He didn’t even notice the machine being taken away, or the restraints being replaced. He didn’t even notice that there was something for the restraints to hold. Haggar’s claws touched his cheek again, but he had no strength to pull away now. It was all he could do to gasp for air, whimpering and crying through his teeth with his eyes screwed shut. He sounded pitiful. He didn’t have the energy to care._

 

_“The first step is complete, my Champion,” she said. Shiro couldn’t respond. There was blood in his mouth. How’d that get there? “Why don’t you take a look at your new enhancement?”_

 

_She turned his head to the right, and through his tears his caught a glimpse of something shining where his arm was supposed to be. It took a moment for him to realise what had happened. He whimpered between another bout of sobs as he stared at the robotic limb, and realised he could feel it. The fingers were created from some form of black metal that he didn’t recognise; they felt soft to the touch, at least to the other metal fingers. The once clean, cool metal of the table, now slick with drying blood - the druids had done their best to contain it, but clearly not all of it - felt as he imagined it should. If it wasn’t for the mechanical whirs every time he moved the hand, he would have thought from the sense of touch alone that it was a regular hand._

 

_Shiro was suddenly awash with anger - they had taken his hand and replaced it with this… this_ thing ** _,_** _deliberately torturing him with the process. He didn’t like killing, but at that moment there was nothing more he would like to do. To snap the restraints, to clamp this robotic fist around Haggar’s neck, to-_

 

_The hand lit up with a flash, a bright glowing purple hot enough to begin to melt the bars, and Shiro yelped in shock. He felt like he had stuck his arm into a furnace. And then the restraint was gone, the molten metal cooling quickly as it slid down the angled table, and he saw a chance. A futile chance, but he was going to try. He reached for the bar on his chest and tore it off with little effort, and with more mobility he swung for Haggar, briefly wondering why she hadn’t bothered to move. The hand - his hand - got mere millimeters from Haggar’s neck and stopped. Shiro’s breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t move it forward. He couldn’t pull it back. It was stuck in empty space. With a grin and a twitch of her fingers, the arm moved back down to the table, pulling Shiro back down. A druid fixed new restraints to the table, made of the same black metal as Shiro’s fingers, which didn’t seem to melt._

 

_“I expected more gratitude from you,” Haggar said mockingly as the arm deactivated. Shiro was beginning to shake violently, and his still-gasping breaths from the procedure were becoming erratic and shallow as his surroundings began to spin._

 

_“His body is seizing. He’s going into shock,” a druid informed her. She nodded._

 

_“See to it that he doesn’t die. It would be a shame for him to live through the procedure only to be killed by a primitive reaction to the stress.”_

 

_“Yes, Haggar.”_

 

_Whatever had been keeping Shiro conscious before was fading quickly. He was only vaguely aware of being surrounded by figures before everything went black as he slipped away._

 

~*~

 

When Shiro woke, he felt like he had been strangled in his sleep.

 

He almost fell out of the bed as he stumbled to his feet, desperate to get away from… nothing. The sweat-soaked mattress? The tangled sheets? It was stupid. But he didn’t want to be on that bed. He whimpered as his mechanical hand seized and flickered, shooting waves of pain through the rest of his body. The feeling of his flesh being stripped piece by piece lingered and his body shook uncontrollably as he pressed his back to the wall and slid to the floor, gasping, hugging his knees to his chest. He felt like they were there, watching, studying, uncaring. Always watching. He had to look around the room to check that he was alone, that they hadn’t invaded the castle during his brief sleep and were standing over him like they had done so many times when he was strapped to that table, when they were trying to break him. Shiro pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as he was hit with flashes of the torture, a pointless gesture in an attempt to block them out.

 

He didn’t know how long he sat like that, breathing sharply through his clenched teeth, but by the time he got shakily to his feet his legs were cramped and his head was pounding. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. But he couldn’t go back to sleep. He couldn’t face the nightmares again.

 

The feeling of peace from the earlier movie-watching session was a distant memory, now. It never seemed to last long.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we don't know if shiro lost his arm in battle or if it was just physically removed. there's plenty of fic about the former, so i thought i'd go with the latter for Added Angst because why the hell not, i like making my faves suffer even more. 
> 
> i imagine keith and shiro being really close before the kerberos mission. and i tried my best to avoid making this shippy, i swear. also, i will find a way of putting star wars and finnpoe in everything and im not sorry about it.


	3. Hunk

The battle had gone south quickly. The new galra weaponry on their ships had been repaired much sooner than expected, letting out a terrific blast of energy that sped through space towards the red lion. Even Keith’s exceptional flying skills weren’t good enough to avoid such an unexpected attack.

 

“Keith!” Hunk yelled through the comms as the yellow lion shot across to the damaged red one, grabbing hold of if before it was sucked into the atmosphere of the planet below. There was a hell of a lot of smoke, and all of the lion’s lights were flickering. Whatever magic-science self repairing technology the lions had, this wasn’t going to be a quick recovery. And Keith wasn’t responding.

 

“Hunk, get him back to the castle!” Shiro ordered, his lion leaping out of the way of another blast.

 

“Are you su-”

 

“We can take this thing down. A few more hits’ll do it,” Shiro cut him off. “Keith might need medical attention _now._ We’ll divert their attention to give you cover. Go!”

 

“Got it.”

 

As soon as Hunk and Keith had reached the castle, Shiro, Pidge and Lance were able to resume the attack. Pidge, ever observant, spotted an area of possible structural weakness on the new ship, and with the damage they had already caused taking a heavy toll, it only took a few well-placed attacks from each of them to send the ship up in a spectacular fireball.

 

Upon returning to the ship, the three of them rushed to the medical bay. Coran and Allura were there, monitoring Keith’s vital signs as he rested in one of the pods. Shiro always thought there was something deeply unsettling about the peaceful suspension of the pods; the blue hue and slack faces of the occupants reminded him of specimens in jars like the kind you would see in research labs. Or the Galra druid chambers. He shook his head to clear the thought and approached with the others.

 

“How is he?” Lance asked, lips pressed in a thin line. For all of his rivalry with the red paladin, he cared about him just as much as he cared for the others with the exception of Hunk, who remained his closest friend. Since Shiro’s talk with Keith a few weeks prior, he had begun opening up with the other paladins a little bit more, joining in on their recreational activities or at least staying in the same room to watch in amusement as they attempted whatever weird alien game they had discovered that day. The connection that Lance and Keith had established through the rivalry was only strengthened by this; they were friends and had been for some time whether they admitted it or not, albeit a very strange and precarious definition of the term, but more time together in a less stressful environment had been reducing some of the tension. Barely noticeable, because God, they still verbally tore at each other at every opportunity, but there was a slightly more obvious sense of exasperated affection behind it now.

 

Shiro understood Lance’s worry. He had known Keith for a long time, and he had never seen him look so… he didn’t want to use the word _dead_ , but every muscle in his face and body was slack, and even through the blue glass-stuff he looked paler than usual. He was always so sharp, so tense, fidgeting and ready to go. In this state he just looked _wrong_. His body was laced with cuts, and ugly purple bruises were visible on his chest. His white undergarment was all but destroyed; in fact, his torso was completely bare. Shiro assumed Coran or Allura had cut off the top half of the full-body suit to check his injuries and apply whatever treatment they had to before placing him in the pod.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Coran reassured the younger paladin, his voice softer than usual. “It looks worse than it is. The cuts are mostly superficial. He had quite a knock on the head and a few of his ribs are broken, but he’ll be ready to leave the pod in a couple of days. No longer than your stay in it, I’d imagine. Perhaps shorter.”

 

Lance breathed a sigh of relief, as did Pidge and Shiro. They were silent for a moment, the only noise the gentle hum of the castle around them until Pidge spoke up, looking around the room.

 

“Where’s Hunk?”

 

Good point. He was nowhere to be seen, and hadn’t been there when they arrived.

 

“I think our yellow paladin might be feeling a little upset,” Coran replied, shaking his head sadly. “He said something about going to change out of his armour, but he never came back. He seemed quite shaken.”

 

“I’ll go find him,” Lance said, finally tearing his eyes off the pod. Shiro grabbed his arm as he started to move.

 

“Maybe we should leave him alone for a bit,” he suggested gently. “Give him time to clear his head.”

 

Lance bit his lip, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I’m gonna go change out of my armour though. I’ll be back in a few ticks,” he said over his shoulder. Pidge decided to do the same, leaving Shiro with Coran and Allura and the unconscious Keith.

 

“I fear Hunk blames himself for this,” Allura sighed, her voice low as she came up beside Shiro. “He takes his defensive role very seriously.”

 

“I’ll give him some space, but if he doesn’t show up in the next…” he paused. He had no idea what the Altean equivalent of an hour was. “If he doesn’t show up, I’ll go find him.”

 

An hour passed.

 

Allura had returned to her duties, and Coran was busying himself in the corner sorting out medical supplies, some of which were _incredibly_ past their use-by date. Pidge and Lance had returned a while ago to sit on the steps opposite Keith’s pod to keep an unnecessary vigil; nothing was going to worsen, and they all knew it, but it was a comfort to be there and physically _see_ that nothing was going wrong. Shiro himself had gone to change only to return to the medical room, but he was getting worried. Hunk still hadn’t shown up. The others had noticed, too.

 

“I think someone should go talk to him,” Shiro said, breaking the silence that had lasted for the better part of half an hour now. He didn’t need to explain who ‘him’ was. Lance and Pidge nodded.

 

“I think it’s best if just one of us goes. I don’t wanna hound him, he doesn’t like that,” Lance said, looking up at Shiro expectantly. It took a moment for him to process that Lance wanted _him_ to go.

 

“You don’t want to go instead?” Shiro asked, uncertain. Perhaps this was a task better suited for a closer friend. Lance shook his head.

 

“You know I’m not good with the whole comforting thing. I just end up making awkward jokes and pissing people off.”

 

“You do that most of the time,” Pidge said pointedly. Lance stuck out his tongue in response before continuing.

 

“Besides, he looks up to you a lot. I think he might need to talk to you more than anyone else right now. But tell him I’m gonna hug him later!”

 

“Alright, I’ll pass that along,” Shiro laughed slightly as he left. He decided he would check Hunk’s room first; that was the most likely place he would be. He reached the corridor that housed the paladin quarters and rapped his knuckles against the metal of Hunk’s door. No answer.

 

“Hunk? You in there?” he asked, voice slightly raised to make him audible through the door. There was a quiet grumble in response. “Can I come in?” A muffled ‘yeah’ gave him the permission he needed, and he opened the door with the push of the button on the wall. Hunk’s room was littered with machinery and notebooks and schematics. Several different projects were spread out across the floor, but he wasn’t working on any of them at that moment. He was sitting on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest with a distant look in his eyes.

 

“Hey, buddy,” Shiro said, making his way gingerly across the messy room and sitting on the edge of the bed. He patted the mattress beside him, indicating that he wanted Hunk to scoot over to his side. The other paladin complied, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. “We were getting worried about you.”

 

“I’m fine,” Hunk said, his voice rough. He looked terrible.

 

“Oh, Lance wanted me to let you know that he’s gonna give you a hug the next time he sees you,” Shiro said in amusement before he forgot. A ghost of a smile tugged Hunk’s lips, but faded quickly. It was rare for him to be so quiet, to look so drained. It worried Shiro.

 

“What’s wrong, Hunk? Keith’s going to be fine,” he said reassuringly. Hunk sighed.

 

“I know, but seeing him all beat up like that…”

 

“It’s always rough, seeing someone you care about get hurt,” Shiro agreed, wrapping his arm around Hunk’s shoulder and pulling him close. There was something more to this, something else that was eating at him, but Shiro didn’t push. Hunk would tell him if he wanted to.

 

“I just. I’ve gotta keep you guys safe but like, what if I screw up?” Hunk said, pulling at a loose thread on his shirt. “Y’know, what if something happens and I don’t get there on time, or I don’t react to a situation right and someone else pays for it?”

 

“Hunk…”

 

“I just, I freak out about this a lot, and then something like this happens, and, yeah, it could’ve been worse, but that’s exactly my point. It _could_ have been worse, someone could get really _really_ hurt or- or they could _die_ , and I don’t think I can deal with that? You guys mean so much to me and you’re all so important to the universe and you’re all super brave and cool and I’m always so scared and-”

 

“Hey, woah there, pal,” Shiro interrupted. He had planned on letting Hunk finish, but this was going in a direction he didn’t like. “You’re important to the universe too. You’re _so_ important. You hold this team together! And you are without a doubt the bravest of everyone on this ship. How often do you throw yourself into danger without a second thought to protect us?”

 

“But I’m always so _scared_ , Shiro,” he replied, looking dejected. “I’m scared of the Galra and the responsibility and of something happening because I wasn’t good enough to help. I’m not brave if I’m scared.”

 

Shiro sat silently for a few moments, watching Hunk kick his heels off the side of the bed. There was a reason the yellow lion had chosen him; his compassion, his will to jump to the aid of anyone who needed it. He knew that Hunk had been a loving, supportive friend to Lance for years now, and since becoming a paladin that support and kindness and genuine care for the wellbeing and happiness of others had spread to them all. Hell, that had happened within a day. Shiro would be sorely challenged to find anyone in the universe who cared more about others than Hunk did, and he shared his desire to keep them safe, and his fear of not doing so.

 

“I’m always terrified,” Shiro said eventually, deciding that this was something Hunk deserved to hear.

 

“Yeah, right,” Hunk scoffed in response. His amused look faded when he caught Shiro’s eye. “Wait. Seriously? You’re serious? Like, totally?”

 

“I am totally seriously serious,” Shiro replied, smiling as Hunk giggled. “Buddy, sometimes I think about the scale of what we have to do and I’m totally overwhelmed. I think about trying to keep you guys safe, think about what could happen if I don’t, or if I mess up, and the Galra in general… Honestly, it all scares the hell outta me. But bravery isn’t about how scared you are. It’s about what you do despite that fear.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. You’re so brave, Hunk. You all are.”

 

“What if… What if something _does_ go wrong, like- like what happened with Keith today, or something worse happens, and I think I could've done something differently to stop it? I can’t stop thinking that I should’ve seen it coming sooner, or I should’ve reacted quicker, or…” he trailed off, sighing heavily. “I just wanna keep everyone safe, man. I feel like hell when I don’t.”

 

“I know, Hunk. There are a lot of things I wish I’d done differently, and I’ve let it eat me up before. When I was held prisoner, I thought so much about when the Kerberos mission went South. I should’ve done this, I should’ve done that, that it was my responsibility and I blew it. And in the arena, there were a lot of things I…” Shiro froze as the roar of the crowd filled his ears, howling for the blood that was seeping into his clothes and staining his hands red. _Not now._

 

“Shiro?”

 

The bitter stench of an alien’s blood filled his nostrils, the smell of burnt flesh, and the sound of whimpers reached his ears despite the pounding and chanting of the crowd. He couldn’t tell if they were coming from him or someone else. The sharp metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, he was panting for breath. The klaxon sounded, the gates opened, another opponent, more blood, more pain, more-

 

He realised there was a hand on his flesh one and Shiro jumped, gasping in shock, ready to pull away and swing a punch and push them to the ground but their grip was too tight and- and it was Hunk, now crouched on the floor in front of him, holding his hand tightly and talking calmly to him. It took Shiro a few moments to break free of his daze, to register what his friend was saying. It turned out he wasn’t saying anything; not really. Hunk was singing softly in Hawaiian, something gentle and calm and slow as he rubbed Shiro’s arm. Shiro desperately fought to slow his breath, screwing his eyes shut and focusing on the slow rhythm of the song until he got himself back under control.

 

“Hey, Shiro. You with me?” Hunk asked patiently, his voice low. Shiro nodded, feeling heat rise in his cheeks at the embarrassment of the whole situation.

 

“Y-yeah. Yeah. I think I’m back,” he responded, giving Hunk’s hand a squeeze. Hunk smiled at him, and Shiro was relieved to see nothing patronising in his expression, but he still felt utterly ashamed. He shouldn’t be like this.

 

“Cool, glad to hear it,” Hunk sat back down on the bed, not letting go of Shiro. “C’mon, man, keep those deep breaths coming. Your body’s all wound up. Aaaand you’re kinda burning my sheets,” he added, as though he hadn’t wanted to point it out. Shiro frowned, and Hunk nodded towards his- crap, his _semi-active_ robotic arm that was currently clutching and charring a fistfull of the bed coverings.

 

“Shit,” he breathed, unclenching the fist and willing the damn thing to turn off. “Hunk, I’m so sorry, I-”

 

“Dude, they’re just sheets, there’s like a gazillion of them in this castle,” he interrupted. “Now seriously. Breathe in as deep as you can, hold it five seconds, let as much out as you can, wait five seconds, repeat. It’ll help, I promise.”

 

“That’s not- I didn’t mean your sheets,” Shiro sounded much more exasperated than he had intended to; a result of the panic. “You shouldn’t see me like this. I shouldn’t _be_ like this.”

 

Hunk stared at him silently for a few moments. Shiro wondered if something he had said had pissed the kid off, and was getting ready to apologise again when Hunk finally spoke.

 

“Shiro, don’t you ever apologise for this again. Don’t you _dare_ , got it?” he spoke quietly, but there was still an audible waver in his voice. “How often does this happen? Is it always this bad?”

 

_Bad?_

 

“How long was I…” Shiro didn’t even know what word to use.

 

“It took me like, at _least_ ten minutes to bring you back. You were totally frozen.”

 

“Hunk I’m so -”

 

“How often?” Hunk interrupted the apology, his voice still low. Shiro couldn’t hold his gaze; he turned away.

 

“Not often,” he lied, and he knew that Hunk didn’t believe that for a second, but he hoped he would take it as a hint to drop the subject. If Hunk had picked up on it, he promptly ignored it.

 

“All the damn time. Got it. I knew you had some trouble with this, man, I mean it’s happened before in Voltron a couple times, but… why haven’t you said anything?”

 

“How can I expect you guys to trust me if you know that I can’t even hold myself together?” Shiro replied frustratedly, more because of himself than the question. Hunk wasn’t going to drop this unless he got a few answers out of him, anyway. The other paladin frowned as he continued. “I don’t sleep, I get flashbacks, I black out, I panic. I’m the leader, I’m not supposed to be… I’m not supposed to be _this,_ I’m supposed to be strong.”

 

“Asking for help doesn’t make you weak,” Hunk said adamantly, shaking his head. “None of this makes you weak. Jesus, Shiro, you don’t need to do this by yourself. We’re all here for you.”

 

“No, no, the others can’t- no. They can’t know about this,” he said quickly, feeling a twinge of panic. They couldn’t know how bad it was. Voltron would fall apart.

 

“I’m not gonna tell ‘em. That’s not my place,” Hunk responded, holding his hands up in surrender, and Shiro breathed a sigh of relief. “But remember that I’m here for you, okay? I can help. I have experience with this stuff. I have an uncle who suffers from it real bad. I used to hang with him all the time and I picked up on some of his coping mechanisms.”

 

Shiro’s brow knotted in confusion. “‘It’?” he asked. Hunk blinked, his cheeks reddening slightly. He scratched the back of his neck and looked away.

 

“Y’know. _It_. Post traumatic stress.” he answered awkwardly. “I- I figured that was what… I mean, it seems like it. To me. I’m not a doctor. Or a psychiatrist. But. That’s what it. Yeah. You hadn’t… thought about this?”

 

Post traumatic stress. Shiro felt like a missing puzzle piece had clicked into his brain and suddenly the whole picture was revealed. It made sense. Of course it made sense. He honestly hadn’t even stopped to think that there was a name that he could have given to his struggles, but now he wasn’t sure if having the label was a good thing or a bad thing.

 

“I hadn’t given it much thought,” Shiro admitted, feeling slightly dazed. “It fits, I guess.”

 

“I didn’t mean to just. Lump that on you. I might be wrong. I’m sorry,” Hunk said quietly, sincerely, resting a hand on Shiro’s arm. Shiro shook his head slightly.

 

“No, no, don’t apologise buddy. It actually makes a lot of things make more sense. I’ll have to look into it more, but… I think you might be right. Thank you.”

 

“Oh. Okay. You’re welcome. I think,” Hunk said, his mouth twitching into an unsure smile. “Don’t worry about it though, okay? When my uncle got a diagnosis he kinda fell into a dark place for a while. A darker place, I mean. Like he had been given some sort of horrible life sentence. He didn’t really know what to do and he felt like the PTSD thing meant he was, I dunno, damaged or something. That happens a lot with brain stuff like this, I think. But he’s okay now, he’s got support from the people that matter, he’s doing way better. At least, he was last time I saw him…”

 

“I really appreciate that, Hunk,” he said, ruffling his friend’s hair. This explained Hunk’s reaction to his earlier apology. He had probably heard something similar from his uncle before. “It’s good to know I’ve got the best and bravest on my team. You’re a great guy, you know that, right?” Hunk shrugged shyly.

 

“I do my best.”

 

“That’s what I was trying to tell you before we got sidetracked. There are always going to be things that you think you could have done better, and sometimes the consequences of those things are pretty bad, yes,” Shiro told him truthfully, the familiar feeling of regret twisting his stomach. “And when that happens, it’s hard to deal with. You think about it over and over, reimagining it, focusing on what you didn’t do. But the fact is that if you’re always trying your best - which you are - then the ‘if’s and ‘but’s don’t matter. We can’t always win, we can’t always get things right. All that anyone can ask of you is your best and you repeatedly give it, time and time again. We’re all still here because of your bravery.”

 

Hunk looked at him with watery eyes, his bottom lip quivering. He flung his arms around Shiro’s neck and it took Shiro a few moments to react, returning the gesture with a content sigh. It was a long-established fact that Hunk gave the best, most stress-relieving hugs of the group (Lance had ranked them all in order of hugging skill one day - the list went Hunk, Shiro, Pidge, apparently. Keith ‘didn’t qualify’ because he was ‘an emotionless rock carved into a human likeness’, and Lance considered himself to be in a whole different league of hugging. Because he was Lance, so of course he did.)

 

“I’m always gonna have your back, okay?” Hunk said, his voice muffled in Shiro’s shoulder. “All of you. No matter what.”

 

“We know, buddy,” Shiro smiled, patting his friend’s back gently. “And we’ve got yours. Knowing you’re our yellow paladin helps us all sleep better at night. We got the bravest guy in the universe watching out for us.”

 

He pulled back slightly with a sniff, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Just so you know… it helps us sleep better at night too, knowing you’re our leader. No matter what you think, you’re the strongest person here. You remind me a lot of my uncle, y’know. He’s a really cool guy. I think you’d like him.”

 

“If he’s anything like you, I’m sure I would.”

 

When Shiro left Hunk’s room some time later - almost tripping on a disassembled engine on his way out - the other man was in a much brighter mood than before, planning on going to check on Keith before he turned in for the night. Shiro did the same, taking a detour on the way to his quarters to check on the sleeping paladin, suspended peacefully in the healing pod. The bruises were already fading and the cuts looked several days old now, compared to the several hours old they actually were. Lance had dozed off on the step, and Pidge was propped up against another pod with their laptop, typing away. He wished them goodnight, content that they were all okay after the fight earlier, and headed to his own quarters. He may as well try to get some sleep, although he doubted it would be peaceful.

 

**~*~**

 

_They hadn't given him much time to recover from the ordeal._

 

_He had been thrown into a cell at some point after the twisted operation, whenever they had managed to bring his body out of shock. It wasn't Shiro’s usual cell. It seemed to be made of the same silver metal of the robotic arm they had forced upon him. He wouldn't be able to escape from here._

 

_Not that he had any plans of escaping at that moment. Shiro was curled up in the corner, his legs pulled tight to his chest. His real arm wrapped around them tightly, and he held the metal arm away at an awkward angle. He didn't want it near him. He was still shaking uncontrollably, has breath hitching in the back of his throat as he examined the appendage in the dark. A tiny sliver of light from beneath the door was all that penetrated the blackness of the cell, barely enough to see by, but at least it gave him an idea of where he was. It wasn't the low purple light that he had experienced throughout the ship; instead it was a harsh white, the same lights in the laboratory._

 

_So they were keeping their new lab rat close._

 

_A fresh wave of tears welled up in Shiro’s eyes as pain racked his body, shooting out from the heavy arm at his side. The join between it and the flesh of his upper arm was badly burned and peeling, the skin blistered and raw as the metal had melted into his flesh. He bit his lip, whimpering as he subconsciously moved to cradle the arm. It hurt._ Fuck _, it hurt so much. And Haggar had claimed that this was only the first step. How much pain were they going to subject him to? He felt utterly alone. He_ was _utterly alone, deep in space, a prisoner of an all-powerful empire that was using him as some sort of experiment._

 

_He slid in and out of consciousness several times, and had no idea how much time had passed. A day at least, maybe. He was finally jolted awake by the hiss of the cell door opening. Haggar stood there, a silhouette against the blindingly bright light that poured into the cell. It would have looked somewhat angelic, if she wasn't his torturer._

 

_“Come, my Champion. It's time for you to try your new weapon,” she grinned showing her sharp, yellowing teeth. He was hauled stumbling to his feet by the guards and guided through the ship. Some part of him, ridiculously, thought they might have been taking him to a training room, but he wasn't surprised when he saw the looming gates of the arena up ahead. They were throwing him right back into the lion's den. Actually, he would have preferred it if he only had to fight lions. As they approached the gate, Haggar materialised at his side._

 

_“Fight with your instincts, and you will win,” she instructed. “Feel your new power. Let it flow through you. Use it. If you do not, I'm sure your corpse will make for excellent study.”_

 

_And she was gone._

 

_Shiro was led into the arena and left standing in the centre, as was custom. This time, though, they hadn't given him any sort of weapon. All he had was the prosthetic arm weighing heavily on his side. He briefly wondered if they were going to throw another innocent life form at him, something easy to start with, but of course they didn't. The klaxon sounded and opposite gate opened to allow a large, vaguely gorilla-shaped alien to rush into the arena, belting out a powerful roar._

 

_Wasting no time, it immediately raised a boulder above its head and lobbed it at him. Shiro dove out of the way, his new arm feeling awkward and knocking off his centre of balance. If he didn't adapt to it soon, he was as good as dead. By the time he had regained his footing, the beast was charging. It slammed into him full force, throwing him back against a pillar. Heavily winded, it was all he could do to roll to the side when a mechanically augmented fist came crashing down towards him._

 

_The fight continued like this, utterly one-sided as Shiro avoided the attacks as best he could, trying to get used to the weight of his prosthetic and a better read on the alien. Tubes and wires connected various mechanical enhancements on its body, some feeding into its flesh. The spined, scaly skin seemed almost impenetrable, and even if it wasn't, Shiro didn't have much in the way of ‘sharp and pointy’. He had nothing to fight with. Nothing except…_

 

_He was loathed to use the technology that had been forced upon him. He didn't even know how it worked or what it could do, but he was slowly realising that he had no choice._

 

_The creature crashed into him once more, its spines tearing at his chest. He landed heavily on the floor, spitting out a mouthful of sand, and had no time to move before the beast grabbed him and held him down, its clawed fist around his throat. This thing wanted to watch the life drain from his eyes._

 

_That wasn't going to happen._

 

_Shiro cried out, a mix of a battle cry and a shout of pain as the arm flashed to life. It burned his already scorched flesh, but he couldn't focus on that. He swung his fist at the alien's muscular arm and it leapt back, howling. There was a large burn where he had hit. Shiro struggled to his feet, catching his breath while his opponent surveyed him warily, planning how best to adapt to its enemy’s new arsenal. The crowd was screaming excitedly at the new development._

 

_He had no idea how he was supposed to fight with this arm, other than throwing punches. And that wasn't necessarily going to work. He remembered Haggar’s words; Instinct. He didn't want to follow any advice that the witch had given him, but he had no choice if he was going to survive. He took a slow, deep breath and considered the situation. It was like his meditations. Focus on himself. Focus on the task at hand. Block out everything else._

 

_The creature charged once more._

 

_So did Shiro._

 

_He fell to his knees at the last moment, using his momentum to carry him beneath the creature as it had leapt at him. It landed heavily, spinning to face him, and Shiro brought his hand across in a clean swipe. Blood spurted from the deep gash he had caused, cutting through several wires as he had done so, and the creature yelped. He danced out of the way as it clawed for him, the metal arm leaving a trail of purple in its wake as he swung again, and the scaled hand that had been reaching for him landed on the dusty floor._

 

_The beast roared furiously, clutching its stumped wrist as Shiro retreated to get his bearings, staring at the creature's hand in shock. His arm was much stronger than anticipated. This was an easy win now. If he cut more of those tubes or rid the thing of another appendage it wouldn't be able to fight, no matter how much it may have wanted to. But by doing that he risked the beast being taken by Haggar and ‘repaired’, only to be thrown back at him in the future. It looked like she had already had the thing in her sick laboratory at some point, judging by the enhancements on its body that were_ definitely _Galra tech._

 

_Making up his mind, Shiro went on the offensive. The beast was already slowed from blood loss, far too much to react to his sudden change of strategy. He cut more of the wires and tubing, tearing some right out of the creature's skin. Strange fluids poured out of them as they hung uselessly, pooling into a steaming mixture on the sand. It struggled to reach for him and he moved behind the creature out of the way, yanking a large batch of wires from the creature's back. It roared and fell forward onto all fours, writhing in pain. It was time to finish it._

 

_Shiro kicked it over, toppling it with ease, and braced himself on its chest. With one easy swipe, he cut the creature's throat. But there was something different about it now. Its expression was no longer feral and bloodthirsty; they were intelligent, soft. And full of pain. The alien's remaining hand went to its neck as it choked for breath, but it didn't look scared of death._

 

_“Thank you…” it rasped through the horrific gurgles it made as it choked even as it bled out, thick blue blood seeping into the sand beneath. With a final sigh, its head fell to the side. Shiro could only stare in horror and confusion as the klaxon sounded and the crowd howled in celebration of his victory. This creature had been innocent, he was sure of that now. Perhaps the wires… maybe it was being controlled, or driven into a blind rage by whatever Haggar had done to it._

 

_Either way, Shiro felt sick as he deactivated his arm. He had killed something innocent, that had been forced to become a monster through no choice of its own. But Shiro, he had had a choice. He could have spared it, disabled it. He could have waited before his final strike, seen the creature's new eyes, and held back. But he hadn't. He had been entirely focused on self-preservation._

 

_As he was led from the arena, he remembered his words to his previous opponent._

 

“I'm not a monster.”

 

_When he returned to the laboratory he was greeted by a grinning, congratulatory Haggar before being shoved back into his cell. A tray of food and water were on the floor. He ignored it._

 

“I'm not a monster.”

 

_He returned to his original corner, slumping against the wall and sliding to the floor. He was exhausted. His arm ached, burns on top of burns, and he still found that he felt as though his hand had been shoved in an oven. Retaining a sense of touch and feeling in the replacement arm meant that it was going to be incredibly painful every time he used it. To top it all off, his chest and back were bruising heavily after being thrown around by his opponent, and his slices and cuts were still bleeding. His head was pounding._

 

“I'm not a monster.”

 

_Guilt and shame and disgust were settling into his heart, crushing it with their combined weight. Perhaps that alien had had a family. Perhaps if he had only disabled it, it would have been sent to the factories or mines. It may have even gotten free, someday, and now it never would. Because Shiro had been too intent on killing it to protect himself from ifs and maybes. The creature had thanked him, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he hadn’t_ intended _to help it. He eyed his new arm in the tiny amount of light that was available to him, wondering just how strong it was. He had been able to kill his opponent so easily. Maybe that was why he had done so; murder was just more easily achievable now._

 

_But the reason didn't matter. He had still done it. He ran his flesh and blood hand through his sweat-soaked hair and breathed shakily, dropping his head to his knees as he pulled his legs to his chest._

 

**I'm a monster**.

 

**~*~**

 

Shiro buried his face into his pillow as he tried to control his shaking, sobbing breaths, breathing sharply through his gritted teeth. He was awake but the memories weren’t fading. The arena, the blood, the crowd, the pain, the guilt, the _coldness_ with which he had killed the creature, and the knowledge that it was not the only one to fall victim to the Champion - to _him._ He couldn’t remember specifics - yet - but flashes of blood and screams plagued him frequently, and the way the rescued prisoners had looked at him…

 

He turned his head to stare at the metal hand curled tightly in the bed sheets. _My murder weapon of choice,_ he thought bitterly as he pushed himself upright, turning it over as he examined it with disgust. It seemed so harmless like this; dull grey and black, making slight clicks and whirs as the mechanisms inside moved. With a resigned sigh, he grabbed his clothes and padded down the hallway to the bathrooms. There was no way he was getting back to sleep after that, so he may as well wash off the sweat and tears whilst everyone else was still asleep. And maybe, just maybe, the shower would get rid of the sensation of blood and dirt caked into his skin.

 

It didn’t.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. The Hunk bit was actually supposed to be the fourth chapter, but I am SO stuck on Lance's right now. I know what I want to do with it, but writing it is proving difficult. orz
> 
> None of the stuff about Hunk's family is canon, and I deliberately made Shiro's attitude towards himself pretty contradictory to what he was telling Hunk, because of course this guy would hold himself to double standards. Of course he would. 
> 
> Please someone help these poor kids, they're all so sad, why do I do this


End file.
